romance and dreams
it seems easy to force romance to submit under the weight and logic of reason. and such exertion may have some kind of truth on its side, some kind of validity. and yet, seeing it directly is very difficult. there are many aspects, as pervasive as my sense of self.
...
eyes opening slowly, taking in the warm radiance of the room. curtained windows lightly waver back and forth in response to the gentle caress of the fresh morning breeze. the cool sheets, satin to the touch, glide smoothly as they outline her lithe form next to me, still asleep. i turn on my side to gaze into her face, taking in the fine contours and skin tones, imperfections and intricacies. eyes closed, lips express quiet contentment as she breathes gently, softly. as i raise my hand to brush a stray hair from her face, something happens.
a shift. the shape of her face changes. from wide and round, to slim and sleek. her eyes change from anglo to asian. then again, she changes, her skin turns to dusk from its previous peach hue. then from dusk to mocha. her width and length of her nose changes accordingly, as do her lips; heart-shaped to pouting to thin to full. i realize that she could be anyone, and so could i.
...
waking up, i am alone in the early evening. part of me wishes she was here, but then i realize that there is no she; there are too many. and i realize that just as that dream is more or less one-size-fits-all, can my dreams for myself possibly be any more unique or real?
2.13.2003
2.13.2003
2.13.2003
the stronger chance, the harder punch
it strikes me how fragile humans are. thinking about what it means to be healthy recently [and contemplating the cost of health "insurance"], i was studying musculoskeletal anatomy. at some point, my thoughts wandered from the parietal bones to the cartilage of the outer ear. from there it was a small step to imagine a moment of foreplay, playfully biting her ear.
the fantasy morphed into myself as a cat, then as a lion, tugging on a shaggy orange fur of a female's ear. thinking of the sharpness of a lion's teeth and the strength of its jaws, i realized just how delicate a bite has to be not to cause pain or draw blood.
anyone who has touched a sharp knife's edge knows that it takes very little pressure to cut below the skin. it's kind of exhilarating to know that for all appearances of strength, humans are, on some level, equally weak and equally strong. skin is skin, a blade is a blade; to bleed is to be vulnerable.
a recent incident at the martial arts school:
we were paired off, me and him. him, an ex-muay thai competitor. word traveled through the school that he was tough and a little wild; everyone knows me for precise technique and somewhat of a disregard for my own safety. we bow slightly to each other, then assume fighting stances. the exercise calls for one man to throw a jab, and the other man to sidestep and throw a hook to the body. we practice the technique for a few turns. on the next turn, i throw the jab, but instead of throwing the hook as i expect, he punches me in the left eye. apologizing profusely, he mumbles something about not meaning to hit me.
that line about "sorry, i didn't mean to" is fine, but this guy should know better. so i shrug my shoulders, smile, and blink to clear the blurry tears that rush in to cleanse the knuckle-grazed eyeball. we continue the workout, and i forget about getting punched. kind of.
after the formal lesson is over, i stay behind to show another student one of the forms. i catch my friend, the muay thai man, as he is about to leave and ask him to stay for a minute. i would like to practice techniques for fighting from inside the clinch; he says sure, knowing that the strategies of thai boxing fascinate me. i appeal to his ego by calling him "ajarn [teacher, in thai]" and jokingly humble myself before his greatness. we both see no point to the formalism in martial arts -- but i'll have more to say about that another time.
i throw a front kick as an entry to the clinch. lunging forward, i clasp my hands behind his neck and draw him close. he takes the same position, and we wrestle for position. i feel his balance shift and tug his head to one side; i throw knees to his left-ribs, then right-ribs, then center-sternum... not too fast, it's just a drill. then i draw him close again to keep him from getting a proper extension with his knees. and so the dance goes for a minute or so, giving and taking.
we release each other.
i ask him, "how about the elbows?"
i already have a rudimentary understanding of the "elbow hook" from dirty boxing, but i want his explanation. he shows me that the elbow can be thrown from anywhere, as long as it's in the proper range. we take fighting stances and incorporate elbows into a couple of minutes of sparring.
we are not wearing headgear or gloves; he throws strong combinations of elbows - lefts, rights, and uppercuts slice through the air an inch from my face. we say a few more words about technique, and then it's my turn. left jab-straight right-hooking elbow, left jab-straight right-uppercutting elbow, footwork starts to move with the hand/elbow techniques, combinations start to flow.
the tempo increases as i start to drive him back a bit, moving just a little too fast for him to keep up. suddenly i misjudge the distance by a couple of inches and a left elbow full-speed crashes into the right side of his face. it was a clean hit; all i felt was a moment of resistance, but i knew from his reaction that i had made contact. apparently, his right hand had been properly guarding his face, but the force of impact had driven his own fist into contact with his cheekbone.
apologies were exchanged as the space around his right upper cheek/eye area began to swell and his eye itself turned pink from several broken blood vessels just beneath the surface. i got him an ice pack from the receptionist [well-stocked in case of emergencies] and apologized again. having joked about taking revenge for his unexpected punch earlier, i now assured him that what had just occurred was not revenge. it was just a mistake. well, it was unintentional, at least.
i knew what i had done, but i hadn't felt consciously involved at all. there is a different sense of being in the four dimensions of space and time -- completely non-intellectual, fully kinesthetic. self-possessed, but not self-preoccupied. the key is to maintain just enough conscious awareness to knew when to stop, but not to the point of inhibition. awareness equates to the smallest possible reaction time.
he was bruised, i was bruised. for all our training, it ultimately comes down to the element of surprise.
no matter how tough i may think that i am, the only true strengths are depth of perceptions and thickness of skin.
audio: moloko . sing it back [todd terry remix]
it strikes me how fragile humans are. thinking about what it means to be healthy recently [and contemplating the cost of health "insurance"], i was studying musculoskeletal anatomy. at some point, my thoughts wandered from the parietal bones to the cartilage of the outer ear. from there it was a small step to imagine a moment of foreplay, playfully biting her ear.
the fantasy morphed into myself as a cat, then as a lion, tugging on a shaggy orange fur of a female's ear. thinking of the sharpness of a lion's teeth and the strength of its jaws, i realized just how delicate a bite has to be not to cause pain or draw blood.
anyone who has touched a sharp knife's edge knows that it takes very little pressure to cut below the skin. it's kind of exhilarating to know that for all appearances of strength, humans are, on some level, equally weak and equally strong. skin is skin, a blade is a blade; to bleed is to be vulnerable.
a recent incident at the martial arts school:
we were paired off, me and him. him, an ex-muay thai competitor. word traveled through the school that he was tough and a little wild; everyone knows me for precise technique and somewhat of a disregard for my own safety. we bow slightly to each other, then assume fighting stances. the exercise calls for one man to throw a jab, and the other man to sidestep and throw a hook to the body. we practice the technique for a few turns. on the next turn, i throw the jab, but instead of throwing the hook as i expect, he punches me in the left eye. apologizing profusely, he mumbles something about not meaning to hit me.
that line about "sorry, i didn't mean to" is fine, but this guy should know better. so i shrug my shoulders, smile, and blink to clear the blurry tears that rush in to cleanse the knuckle-grazed eyeball. we continue the workout, and i forget about getting punched. kind of.
after the formal lesson is over, i stay behind to show another student one of the forms. i catch my friend, the muay thai man, as he is about to leave and ask him to stay for a minute. i would like to practice techniques for fighting from inside the clinch; he says sure, knowing that the strategies of thai boxing fascinate me. i appeal to his ego by calling him "ajarn [teacher, in thai]" and jokingly humble myself before his greatness. we both see no point to the formalism in martial arts -- but i'll have more to say about that another time.
i throw a front kick as an entry to the clinch. lunging forward, i clasp my hands behind his neck and draw him close. he takes the same position, and we wrestle for position. i feel his balance shift and tug his head to one side; i throw knees to his left-ribs, then right-ribs, then center-sternum... not too fast, it's just a drill. then i draw him close again to keep him from getting a proper extension with his knees. and so the dance goes for a minute or so, giving and taking.
we release each other.
i ask him, "how about the elbows?"
i already have a rudimentary understanding of the "elbow hook" from dirty boxing, but i want his explanation. he shows me that the elbow can be thrown from anywhere, as long as it's in the proper range. we take fighting stances and incorporate elbows into a couple of minutes of sparring.
we are not wearing headgear or gloves; he throws strong combinations of elbows - lefts, rights, and uppercuts slice through the air an inch from my face. we say a few more words about technique, and then it's my turn. left jab-straight right-hooking elbow, left jab-straight right-uppercutting elbow, footwork starts to move with the hand/elbow techniques, combinations start to flow.
the tempo increases as i start to drive him back a bit, moving just a little too fast for him to keep up. suddenly i misjudge the distance by a couple of inches and a left elbow full-speed crashes into the right side of his face. it was a clean hit; all i felt was a moment of resistance, but i knew from his reaction that i had made contact. apparently, his right hand had been properly guarding his face, but the force of impact had driven his own fist into contact with his cheekbone.
apologies were exchanged as the space around his right upper cheek/eye area began to swell and his eye itself turned pink from several broken blood vessels just beneath the surface. i got him an ice pack from the receptionist [well-stocked in case of emergencies] and apologized again. having joked about taking revenge for his unexpected punch earlier, i now assured him that what had just occurred was not revenge. it was just a mistake. well, it was unintentional, at least.
i knew what i had done, but i hadn't felt consciously involved at all. there is a different sense of being in the four dimensions of space and time -- completely non-intellectual, fully kinesthetic. self-possessed, but not self-preoccupied. the key is to maintain just enough conscious awareness to knew when to stop, but not to the point of inhibition. awareness equates to the smallest possible reaction time.
he was bruised, i was bruised. for all our training, it ultimately comes down to the element of surprise.
no matter how tough i may think that i am, the only true strengths are depth of perceptions and thickness of skin.
audio: moloko . sing it back [todd terry remix]
2/13/2003 05:08:00 PM
2.09.2003
2.09.2003
2.09.2003
heat, fear, night
2002
walking uptown on the warm spring night, i see two men about fifty feet away, blocking the sidewalk. as i move closer, i see that they are arguing, intense and loud. "nah, man, fuck your car," the older man says. the younger man is equally furious, and the shouting match escalates as i approach, now only twenty feet between us. a crowd starts to gather. the two men put up their fists and glare at each other.
they hesitate, just out of each others' reach.
i slow my approach a bit, wondering bemusedly if either of them ever had the slightest intention of throwing a punch. it seems that no one else can discern something so simple: both of these guys are angry and hostile, but essentially paralyzed by their fear of what might come next.
still, they hesitate, shuffling around just out of each others' reach.
within about two feet of them, their body language becomes clear to me as i can now see their faces in detail: it's all about letting off steam, each man making sure that the other acknowledges him. they are too afraid, neither wanted this to happen. just as easily, one man could decide to walk away. but neither does.
i sense an opening as one man shifts to the side, and i pass by them, sidestepping as well to avoid tripping him by accident. the crowd parts slightly as i continue on my way, and i don't look back.
audio: mystikal . edge of the blade
2002
walking uptown on the warm spring night, i see two men about fifty feet away, blocking the sidewalk. as i move closer, i see that they are arguing, intense and loud. "nah, man, fuck your car," the older man says. the younger man is equally furious, and the shouting match escalates as i approach, now only twenty feet between us. a crowd starts to gather. the two men put up their fists and glare at each other.
they hesitate, just out of each others' reach.
i slow my approach a bit, wondering bemusedly if either of them ever had the slightest intention of throwing a punch. it seems that no one else can discern something so simple: both of these guys are angry and hostile, but essentially paralyzed by their fear of what might come next.
still, they hesitate, shuffling around just out of each others' reach.
within about two feet of them, their body language becomes clear to me as i can now see their faces in detail: it's all about letting off steam, each man making sure that the other acknowledges him. they are too afraid, neither wanted this to happen. just as easily, one man could decide to walk away. but neither does.
i sense an opening as one man shifts to the side, and i pass by them, sidestepping as well to avoid tripping him by accident. the crowd parts slightly as i continue on my way, and i don't look back.
audio: mystikal . edge of the blade
2/09/2003 12:50:00 AM
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